


Dear Friends

by ReaperWriter



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Epistolary, F/F, F/M, Moving On, compassionate exes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperWriter/pseuds/ReaperWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliza goes to California.  Jed stays in Alexandria. Somehow, they find their way back to the friends they were once upon a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Redwood City, California, April 10, 1863

**Author's Note:**

> So....I am taking this one outside of the Mansion Street Nocturnes series, because I am not sure it's in the same head cannon. It was inspired in part by Eliza asking for a divorce in EmmadelosNardos's brilliant "Not words, not music or rhyme I want, only the hum of your valvèd voice". Seriously, if you haven't read that, go do it.
> 
> I wondered how Jed and Eliza had come to be married, and what ending that marriage might mean for them as people. So...letters. I may write more than is here, I might not. Up to the muse.

Redwood City, California 

April 10, 1863 

 

Dear Jedediah, 

As I am sure you are aware, being in receipt of my cable, I have arrived safely in Redwood City and am installed in the household of my sister and brother-in-law.  My health has fared well, despite the rigors of the journey, and I enjoyed celebrating Christmas here amongst family.  It is said, Jedediah, that the New Year is a time for reflection, and I have found it to be so this year.   

I am well aware that you had no great love for me when we married, as I had none for you.  We did what we did out of love for others than ourselves, to our severe and mutual detriment.  In truth, I had not realized the depths of my personal unhappiness in our intolerable situation until I found myself here and quite outside of it.  California is a very different place than Maryland, one made freer by its distance from traditional society and by the self-made nature of so many who have come to make a home here.  Expectations are not the same as they would be in Baltimore. 

To wit, it is not an irrecoverable wound here to divorce if one has good cause.  And perhaps, Jed, we have more cause then most.  I recognize now that you were likely as desperately unhappy in our arrangement as I was, and I cannot help but believe that you would wish to now be free of it as much as I do.  To this end, I have spoken to a solicitor, and he has drafted a petition, here enclosed, on the grounds of abandonment, as you had made promises to come here with me and have reneged and sent me on alone.  I ask no part of our marital property beyond the $3000 in dowry my father provided us upon our marriage.  My understanding is that you can well afford the sum, and that I shall live comfortably upon it here for the rest of my days. 

I have no intention to wed again, which I suspect would not surprise you.  Instead, I have become acquainted with and deeply fond of a widow in my sister’s circle, Mrs. Abigail Bolton.  Mrs. Bolton and I propose to find a small house together where we might live in peace and equanimity for the rest of our days, perhaps with a few dogs for company.  This might surprise you, though you were always far more observant than I think I gave you credit for.  After all, once upon a time, when we were children, we were friends.  I’d hope we could be again, and would welcome you here in California after the war, if that is your wish.  Just not as my husband.  Though you are in my prayers. 

If this proposal suits, please have your signature witnessed on the petition, and return it with a bank check for the amount of my settlement.  If it does not, please let me know of your objection immediately and if there is a way to remedy it.  If not, I will be forced to proceed adversarially against you, which would not be my wish, but which I would do if necessary.  We deserve to be happy, Jedediah.  Help me make us both so.   
 

With best wishes,    
Eliza Morgan Foster 


	2. Alexandria, Virginia, July 4, 1863

Alexandria, Virginia 

July 4, 1863 

Dear Eliza, 

I write to wish you a very happy Independence Day, both in its traditional form as a federal holiday, and for a more personal reason.  Enclosed, please find the signed and witnessed copy of the petition drafted by your solicitor.  I have made one change with the help of mine, which I hope you will not fight me on.  I changed the amount of the settlement from $3000 to $6000.  As you noted, I could well afford it, and it is only fair that you be recompensed for your unhappiness, as you are now freeing me from mine. 

I do admit that I was somewhat surprised by your letter, but I see the truth in it.  We were neither of us suited to be lovers together, and it was, perhaps, foolish of us to try.  When we ask forgiveness of that sin, we may at least note that it was made with the best of intentions.  We did do it for love.  But now, I think we’ve learned that we must love ourselves first.  

I am unsurprised by your news of your intimate friendship with Mrs. Bolton.  You perhaps did not think I would remember, being slightly older than you and already away at school, your deep and fond regard for Olive Hampstead, who grew up a few estates over, nor your utter desolation when she took ill and passed not long before you both were to turn seventeen.  I returned for the funeral, though in your grief, I would not expect you to recall.  It stuck in my mind, however, when father wrote to me not long after to propose you as a possible wife for me. 

To that end, I wish you and Mrs. Bolton every happiness as you move forward with establishing a household.  As I hope you would wish every happiness for me.  I cannot say that I too shall never marry, for there are things I wished would have been in our own relationship that I can now hope for with another.  I have not yet spoken to her of it, and will not until I receive a copy from you of the finalized decree.  But I have every hope that she will consent to my suit, and that when this long and horrid war is over, she will make me the happiest man alive.   

I do not know what awaits us after that.  She is a true Yankee by nature, and has family in Boston.  Conversely, as you may have heard, my mother wants nothing to do with her traitorous snake of a son.  I am minded to take what assets I have beyond the estate and cede it to her and Ezra when the war is over, to do with as they wish.  Then I shall let Mary- that is her name, Mary- chart our course from there.  Perhaps to Boston.  Perhaps to Europe.  Perhaps even to California, where it is nice to know we would be welcomed by fond friends.   

I do truly wish you the best, Eliza, and I thank you for your prayers.  I would ask you extend them to Mary, as I extend mine to you and Mrs. Bolton.  I hope we can truly become the friends we were perhaps meant to be.  Until I hear from you, be well. 

Your fond friend, 

Jedediah Foster 


	3. Redwood City, California, August 10, 1863

Redwood City, California 

August 8, 1863 

Dear Jedediah, 

I hope this letter finds you well.  As you might imagine, even with the wireless, news is slow to reach us.  I can only assume that the flight of the southern forces after Gettysburg has like as not kept you and your Mary very busy indeed.  For unless I am most mistaken, she is the same woman who came to Mansion House to be superintendent of nursing for the dread Miss Dix, is she not?  The widowed German baroness?  And you thought I never listened to you.  Ha!  You shall have to tell me more about her, as I will tell you about my life here. 

Abby and I…you should call her Abby, as I shall call your new love Mary…Abby and I have purchased a newly built home on Hamilton Street in a style that people are ridiculously calling Steamboat Gothic, though I can only assume most of them have never even seen a steamboat.  It is not the largest or most ornate of houses; that honor here going to the Lathrop home up the block.  Ours has three bedrooms, a parlor, dining room, and a small kitchen at the back, with a servant’s quarters.  Our privy is located in the yard.  The yard itself is nicely sized, which pleased Abby greatly, as she is fond of gardens.  We have hired a woman from the local mission to keep house for us, and have recently made the purchase of two lovely hounds. 

Here, Abby tells me, I must give thanks to you, Jed.  Your increase of the settlement was unexpected, but deeply appreciated.  It will allow us, particularly with Abby’s dower portion from her husband’s estate, to be very comfortable indeed.  Though we may not have loved each other, I always had faith I would be financially cared for by you, and I don’t think I ever gave you quite enough credit for that. 

I believe you would like Abby, if you chance to know her.  She reminds me of you, funnily enough.  She is inquisitive and sure of herself and unafraid of life as I have never been.  By her side though, I am learning.  Perhaps you would like me much better too.  She is my senior by five year, and was married almost fourteen.  Yes, she was quite young, but like us, it was an advantageous marriage for her family.  Her husband, Gabriel, was much older and had grown children.  Abby was, I suppose, less a wife to him, then a companion.  But his financial support shored up her father’s business, and she said he was always kind to her.  I wonder, sometimes, what she would think if she knew how unkind I had been to you? 

I have enclosed your sealed copy of the decree, Jed.  For we are both free now.  And friends, as you’ve said.  So, as your affectionate friend, I beg you, speak to your Mary.  Offer for her.  Marry her.  Don’t wait for the end of the war.  You wrote of Olive, who had been the picture of health one day, and then dead a mere month later.  Don’t wait, Jed.  Life is short, and precious, and you are both in so much danger where you are.  Better, then, to be happy if the end came tomorrow, then to live with regrets.  You and Mary are both in our prayers, as we hope we remain in yours.  Please do write to us and let us know how you fair.  And know too that you both would ever be welcome to our home. 

No longer your wife, I remain fondly your friend, 

Eliza Morgan 


	4. Alexandria, Virginia, November 1, 1863

Alexandria, Virginia 

November 1, 1863 

Dear Eliza, 

I apologize for the delay in writing.  I do sincerely hope this letter finds both you and Abby well and in good health.  Mary asks me to send her kindest regards to both of you, and her prayers for your continued happiness so far away.  Your letter and the decree were well timed, for we needed the cheering.  Even with Gettysburg, and Vicksburg, the war drags on and on without end in sight.  I do wonder, sometimes, if we are living in the end times.  In my darker moments, I thank God he did not give us children, for I cannot see how anyone could rejoice to bring a child into this life, as we all are living now. 

Forgive me the melancholy, dear Eliza.  Today, I lost five young men, all under the age of one and twenty.  Five.  And I shall lose five tomorrow.  And five yesterday.  And five as more again.  Sons, brothers, some husbands or sweethearts.  And another just falls into the ranks in their place.  I wonder, how long can we go one before all men between sixteen and sixty are sacrificed to this war? 

Mary chides me often, tells me to have faith and hope.  And truly, Eliza, she is my faith and my hope.  And, you might be surprised to learn, my wife.  Though very few know of it.  You see, while Miss Dix is happy to have maidens or widows in her ranks, wives it seems are to be quite left out.  And Mary is indispensable to us here at Mansion house, so while we both agreed to take your advice and to find our happiness while we may, there are few who as yet can know.   

You are one.  Mary’s brother and sister-in-law in Boston are another such.  And our three friends here- Samuel Diggs, a freedman and a skilled doctor in training who stood up for me; Emma Green, a confederate sympathizer and yet a good and capable nurse, who stood up for Mary; and the Reverend Henry Hopkins, the hospital chaplain who wed us.  Reverend Hopkins is, by the by, a Lutheran minister.  Whatever would Mother think?  And no, she does not know, Eliza.  I don’t intend to tell her.  Perhaps after the war is over.  Though, I suppose if something does happen to me, you might write her.  She always loved you more than me. 

You saw Mary, once, I think.  That ill-fated day you confronted me at the hospital.  She passed us on the stairs.  Tall, like you, but dark where you are fair.  And yes, I do recall now railing about her to you, more fool I.  She was not at all what I expected when warned of the severe German dowager coming to whip us into shape.  To begin, she is not German.  Her husband was a baron, but impoverished, and maintained his title and little else when he came to this country.  She met him working in the textile mills as a patternist.  And she became a nurse caring for him through his unexpected illness and death. 

She is kind, and funny, and unafraid to disagree with me. Which she has done.  Loudly. We’ve learned from each other, I think.  I know I am a better man for knowing her.  And she is fiercely protective of the patients.  And she has a sense of grace that reminds me of you, Eliza.  Even when things were hardest, you were always dignified.  We are nearly of an age.  And already, I am blissfully happy that she is secretly mine. 

Perhaps all I needed to shake this melancholy was to speak of her to you.  And to know that you are happy as I am happy now.  Take care, Eliza.  As you pray for us, we pray for you.  Our fondest regards to Abby and good luck training your pups.  God knows I gave you enough practice. 

Your friend, 

Jedediah Foster 


	5. Alexandria, Virginia January 3, 1864

Alexandria, Virginia 

January 3, 1864 

Dear Miss Morgan, 

I hope you do not find this letter too forward, since we never formally made one another’s acquaintance.  It might come as no surprise to you that in my role as a nurse, I end up penning many letters to people I haven’t been properly introduced too, though more as a secretary than as a speaking correspondent.  But I am rambling. 

I wanted to write to you myself and thank you for what you have done for Jed and me.  I know it must have taken great courage to take the step you did to free the two of you from an unsuitable marriage.  Given the heavy stigma such a thing has always carried, I don’t know if Jed himself would have even considered such a solution, and had he not, I fear we would have spent our lives on a love that could never be.  To be free of it, to be able to move forward, it has taken ten years off his countenance, as I suspect it may have unburdened yours. 

I had not truly thought to ever wed again, after my Gustav died.  We did love each other, my first husband and I, though with a quieter passion than I have now found.  I do not know if that is due to the war and the danger we all face, or that Jed seems to have an energy incapable of containment.  Truly, before I met him, I had expected to serve out the war as a nurse, and then look for some sort of situation afterwards.  Either as a governess or a caregiver.  But a widow, none the less.  Never a wife. And even after meeting Jed, with the former impediment before us… Well, that has passed now. 

Jed has also told me of your kind offer to host us if we ever do come to California.  As yet, I don’t know what the future will hold.  The war shows no true signs of slowing, and I suspect we shall have to keep to our secret life in Alexandria for the moment.  And after?  There are days when it is hard to imagine an after.  I do have a brother living in Boston, kept out of the army by a childhood injury that left him with a serious limp.  He and his wife have children, and I am a fond Aunt.  However, I also spent the time of my husband’s illness and after his death in their house, before leaving to join the nursing corps, and it was…trying, to always feel a guest.  I suppose we shall see how the war ends and make plans from there.   

Obviously, you and your Mrs. Bolton would be most welcome with us, wherever we do one day settle down into a home of our own.  I pray that may not be long in the future.  And I pray for your continued happiness in California.  I hope, in time, we may also become friends.  After all, I would love to hear stories about Jed as a child.  Perhaps you might indulge me. 

Most Sincerely 

Mary Foster (and it is liberating to be able to write that) 


End file.
